


Perfect Moments

by rael_ellan



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Post-Inception
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:43:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rael_ellan/pseuds/rael_ellan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are certain moments in life that people like to romanticise; the perfect cliches of every rom-com and teenage daydream.<br/>Innocent little fantasies, that no one really believed in.</p><p>So when, on a perfectly ordinary day, in the middle of a perfectly ordinary job, Eames looked at Arthur and felt his heart jump, he felt it was perfectly unfair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfect Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [Nobodybitesherlip](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodybitesherlip/pseuds/Nobodybitesherlip) for being inspiring and awesome even when she doesn't think she is.

There are certain moments in life that people like to romanticise; the perfect cliches of every rom-com and teenage daydream. 

First kisses, for example, tended to be somewhat overhyped. Through all the partners Eames had ever had, in reality and beyond it, he had never come close to a perfect first kiss. There’d been some good ones, naturally, but hardly enough to turn the world on it’s head. 

It was just one of those things that you _talked_ about, that you pretended. Something nice and simple to tell enquiring minds; a little lie to yourself, to your partner, and to all the uncomfortably interested relatives you couldn’t escape at family dinners. 

It’s a fantasy, that’s all. And so, in Eames’s opinion, were all the other cliches. 

So when, on a perfectly ordinary day, in the middle of a perfectly ordinary job, Eames looked at Arthur and felt his heart jump, he felt it was perfectly unfair.

They were both covered in blood and dust from the collapsing building; Eames’s shoulder was hanging from where he’d broken open the cellar door, and Arthur’s leather jacket was torn at the shoulder. It was only a momentary respite, hiding in an alley, waiting for the timer to run out, but Arthur turned to him and smiled. _Really_ smiled, that charmed and exhilarated childish grin that was usually resolved for James and Phillipa, that brought out his dimples in full force and knocked about ten years off his age, and Eames felt the air leave his lungs.

“Thanks for that. I didn’t see that second guy.”

Eames couldn’t respond. He opened his mouth, looking for something witty to see, to brush off the moment and set the world spinning again, but his mind was blank. There was nothing there, nothing at all. Nothing but Arthur and his damnable smile. 

“Yes, well,” he managed, eventually, “you weren’t doing so bad on your own, sweetheart.”

Ariadne was waiting for them, watching the clock.

“Did you get it?”

Arthur nodded, swinging himself round in his deckchair and smoothing out his waistcoat. 

“All there. You better clear out. We’ll take care of the clean up.”

“You sure?”

He didn’t bother to look at her, already checking Mr Lawrence’s pulse. 

“Sure. You’ll get the money later tonight.”

“Great. It’ll be nice to have disposable income again.”

Arthur hummed. He was wiping a splash of blood off the floor, beneath Lawrence’s wrist, long fingers pausing to press down on the spot.

“Eames?”

He jumped. He’d forgotten all about Ariadne.

He turned to her and grinned.

“Mmm. Yes, money does sound good, doesn’t it? I can buy a new hat. One of those ridiculous touristy things that makes your ears stick out. What do you think?”

He span, miming examining himself critically in the mirror, and adjusted a tie he wasn’t wearing. She snorted.

“Like you don’t already look touristy enough.”

He looked down at himself. He was wearing the paisley again. The salmon shirt that Arthur wrinkled his nose at, when he bought it all those years ago. He didn’t look _bad_ , really. It all matched, after all, far more than most of his snub-nosed peers, swanning around the resort. 

But he certainly didn’t blend in with the locals, either, so he conceded Ariadne’s point with a bow. 

“Right, well. See you next time, I guess.” She waved, a little awkwardly, already backing towards the door. “Or, you know, maybe you guys could come hang out with me _without_ needing some financial crisis as motivation.”

Awkward, but strangely charming.

“You should be careful, love. That sounded a bit like an invitation.”

She snorted again and, with a dismissive wave from Arthur, hurried out the door. 

Eames let out a breath. Part of him, in the wake of his realisation, wanted nothing more than to follow her. Perhaps not back to her apartment, but certainly out the door. Away from responsibilities and the dull efficiency a post-job sweep required. Arthur would, after all, have it covered. He didn’t _need_ to stay. He could go to a bar, have a few drinks to ease his mind. Pick someone up, perhaps. 

Someone with dark eyes and hair that curled behind his ears - just a little - in the heat. 

He hovered for a moment, swaying, eyes fixed on the door. Then he turned back to Arthur, took out a cloth, and began to wipe down the bedside table. They worked quickly, in silence, moving around one another in the small bedroom almost without looking at each other, until Lawrence took a deep breath and turned his head towards them.

They froze, Arthur still on his knees after checking under the bed and Eames half-way out of the cupboard, replacing Arthur’s deckchair. There was a long moment where he was sure they’d been seen. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, of course - Lawrence wasn’t anyone too important, even if the little bugger _had_ been militarised - but it would destroy his own carefully made plans for a weekend off in Agra.

Arthur, a few steps in front of him, was resting his fingers on the bedpost, just brushing against the wood. His shirt - cuffed, even in this heat - was sticking to the skin of his wrist.

Eames held his breath.

The old man sighed and folded his arms across his chest, nuzzling into his pillow.

He heard Arthur let out his own gasp of air, and found himself grinning.

For some reason, something about the image - Arthur on his knees, half turned towards him with an expression halfway between determination, panic, and relief; Lawrence, now fallen into natural sleep, snuffling softly as his hand pulled up his poodle-print throw; his own hand still closed around the back of the deckchair - was intensely funny. He snorted and quickly covered his mouth with one hand to keep from laughing.

He shuffled towards the door, mindful of the creak of Arthur’s shoes behind him, before he was running through the living room, past the kitchen, and out, _finally_ out the front door. Arthur was right behind him.

They glanced at each other, breathed for a second, and collapsed into laughter. 

“ _Fuck_ , Eames! What the _hell_?”

Eames spluttered and leant back against the wall. 

“It was- _God_. Your _face_.” He wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye and continued, hiccuping, “My brother had this dog once, big lab he was, and we came back one day, found he’d trashed the place. _Chaos_ , everywhere. And in the middle of it all there was just this dog, sat there like he’d never seen, like he’d never-”

Arthur cackled, actually cackled, and clutched at his ribs, and Eames closed his eyes, focused on the rough feeling of the brick through his shirt, and on trying to fill his lungs with air again.

By the time they finally calmed down enough to look at one another again, they’d already garnered more than a few confused looks from passers-by. Eames waved at one woman in a sunhat, who was pointedly shading her eyes to look at them. She looked askance, but moved on, clutching her handbag and fan in one fist and attempting to corral a small child with the other. 

Eames pushed off the wall.

“Well, then.” He adjusted his trousers and slicked back his hair, smiling - confidently, he hoped - at Arthur. 

“Well indeed.”

Had Arthur sounded smug? Or was that just his imagination playing tricks.

“I suppose I’ll see you again in a few months or so, yeah? Try and make the next one a bit interesting next time, though. I must say, I miss the intrigue of Cobb’s particular brand of insanity.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Perfectly shaped, perfectly arched. Eames put a hand in his pocket and pressed his nail into the flesh of his leg. 

“Wouldn’t want you getting bored.”

“Don’t tell me you don’t miss it too, darling.”

Arthur shook his head. 

“I’d rather keep getting shot to the dreamworld, thanks. I’ve got the blood down, but once you’ve got a bullet hole in your pants it’s really hard to find the perfect fabric to fix it with.”

Eames tried not to wince. He covered it by raising a hand to his throat in exaggerated shock.

“Are you suggesting that you mend your own clothes, Arthur? What, no particular tailor on speed-dial? No Savile-Row contact, desperately awaiting the chance to adjust your jacket?”

“Eames.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, that particular half-movement that he seemed to save for Eames’s most vexing moments, but he was smiling again. Not the wild, feral innocence of earlier, but fond, perhaps. 

Perhaps.

“Till next time, then. Though if you do fancy a bit of fun outside the daily grind, you know I could always fit you in.”

It was a careful balance, casual. Too much, and it was a throwaway line; too little and you couldn’t pass it off as a joke if you needed to. 

“Careful, Mr. Eames. That almost sounded like an invitation.”

Definitely fond. 

Eames grinned.

“Perhaps it was, darling. Fancy a drink?”

**Author's Note:**

> What's this? Have I _finally_ managed to write something for Arthur and Eames? It's only been, what? Four years? 
> 
> Feedback is, as always, appreciated, especially in terms of character voice, but whether or not you choose to express an opinion, thank you for reading.
> 
> Feel free to drop by and roll your eyes at me on [tumblr](http://viatheverticlevoid.tumblr.com)


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